The Story of an Artist
by The Infamous Man
Summary: There are many kinds of artists within the world. Some sculpt, some build, some paint, and some mold metal or glass. However, what place does an artist have in the Age of Miracles? Miracleman x-over.


**I do not own Type Moon or Miracleman**

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><p>My name is Ryuunosuke Uryuu, and I'm an artist.<p>

Now don't get me wrong, that title doesn't really mean much nowadays. Anybody could be an artist if they truly wanted to nowadays. All it takes is visiting the Miracles on Olympus, and they could grant you powers that take the pictures that you have in your minds and turn them into reality. Suits or special operations that could grant the power of being a living paintbrush to those dedicated enough, ink coming from their bodies and turning a white canvas into a masterpiece with strokes of their feet and hands that make it look as if they were dancing. Sculptures can be brought about simply by thinking of them, clay molded almost erotically into replicas of treasures long gone, of designs never thought of or conceived before, or statues of the Miracles themselves, figures of worship nowadays.

It was all so boring.

You see, I'm an artist of a different class. Or I used to be.

I used the human body as my canvas, with their rich dark crimson blood as my ink. The world itself was my drawing table.

But that was in the past.

You see, I was just a young kid back when the Miracles had first appeared. I was watching the TV, watching old horror movies and being bored with how all fake it was. The terror was scripted, the blood was fake, the organs were props.

I killed a few animals, without my parents knowing of course. The way their organs moved, the blood spilling out, the terror draining from their eyes as they left the world... it was the coolest thing ever.

Or at least, I remember thinking how cool it was.

Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. My point is, my show was interrupted by a live special report from London. The reporter was rambling on, eyes widened with terror and drenched with blood. Real blood. The street was now cracked and broken, while the buildings were nothing but rubble with broken and dead bodies in it. I remember even seeing a guy's brain leak out of his crushed skull. I was hooked instantly, watching intensively as the reporter rambled on about the carnage and such.

Then _he _came.

Johnny Bates.

I know, that name is basically like a curse nowadays. The Butcherer. The Destroyer. The Fallen Marvel. Kid Miracleman. The Antichrist. But still...

He was the coolest guy ever.

He was like a demon. He was dressed in a fancy business suit with only his hands and sleeves covered in blood. His eyes were like something from a demon. He punched the reporter's head clean off with a sigh before turning to the cameraman and motioning him to follow.

With that, I got a front row seat to Johnny Bates doing his work.

He killed kids, crushed their heads together to make it into one long pink worm. He made it rain limbs on one street, blood on another, and privates in another. I ignored all of the cameraman's mewling and the talking heads too horrified to cut out the footage. It was so cool, unique, bizarre... it was like something out of Go Nagai's Manga, but even cooler.

In the end though, Johnny Bates got bored of the cameraman and ripped off his head. The last shot taken before the camera died was him chucking the cranium into the river, already red with blood and full of bobbing heads.

There was debate afterwards, panicking, rioting even. My mom hugged me telling me it was okay and we would die together as a family. I ignored her of course, I was too much in awe about what I had just seen. I mean, how couldn't I? This guy made killing and dissecting animals look like it was just a stupid little game. He took it to the extreme, took my cool pastime to a whole new level.

But the world changed immediately after that. Bates was killed, which was a huge bummer because I wouldn't have minded dying so long as I became part of his grand masterpiece. The Miracles then descended, along with the aliens and all that. They got rid of the nukes which scared my pops so much, made the soil in Africa fertile again, fixed the ozone, drugs were legalized, clean energy was now unlimited, and even got rid of money and made everything free. I still remember my mom and dad burning their yen notes laughing with tears of joy. It was cool... at first. But when you can get anything you want for free it takes the joy out of owning something you know?

That didn't really matter though, as my true passion was to become an artist.

I didn't apply to college, not really any point since you can just take a pill to be smart nowadays. I hung out with a group of Bateses in his town. They were like him, idolizing Johnny Bates for the sheer carnage he had brought down and his enlightenment to those just like myself.

They were okay.

They weren't like me though. They only liked Bates because he was edgy. I hung around them, went to a few bars where metal bands used his actions as lyrics for their songs, had some laughs as we discussed his carnage.

But then again, my true purpose was being an artist.

My art was simple, gritty, and full of energy. Paintings using heavy shades of red and black, each depicting the carnage Johnny Bates brought down on Earth. The red shined in the light, making it seem like it was blood and the bodies looked almost as if they were screaming at the viewer. My old Bateses friends said that my paintings were the most awesome thing ever, and that Miracleman and those like him really were fags for not letting my work be stored in Apocrypha, their library. My work instead now hangs in metal bars where Bateses hang out.

But it was not enough, it was never enough.

I hated my work because no matter what I did, it was never original. It always seemed as if I was copying Bates, never making anything new. Then again, Bates was the master and I was the apprentice. He did it all, all the carnage and grotesque art was his original masterpiece, and I was an onlooker making only an inferior sketch of what he had done.

Eventually, I decided to do the real thing. To upgrade my previous hobby of killing animals into something more.

I decided to become an artist of human bodies.

Hey come on, an artist has got to adapt when he starts to get bored with his normal medium you know?

So I kidnapped two high school girls who were walking home from school. One only had control over water while the other could read minds. I know it isn't cool, but I did kinda stalk them a bit before making my move. Killed the water-controlling one first to save myself some trouble and knocked out the other one.

Inspiration then hit me.

These two were best friends, so shouldn't they be together in death?

I got a chemical that transformed normal human tissue into a hard plastic. I then brought both back to my home and started cutting up the dead one, my heart racing so much as I separated the head from the body and the blood spilled out. My excitement reached tenfold as the other woke up and screamed in horror as she watched me, before breaking as she tried to read my mind and find out the reason why I was doing this. I laughed and joked a bit. I couldn't help it. It was so cool! This is what I had lived for! This must've been what Bates felt when he was in London. I would make him proud!

After killing both and cutting them up, I arranged their bodies to that the telepathic girl was smiling while her rib cage was open, where the headless body of her friend was reaching up and touching her face. The telepathic girl's hands held the head of her friend, embracing its face as if lovingly.

I had to show everyone the whole world had to see. So I left them in a nearby park, and when the sun rose and I watched the news about the thing... I could not help but laugh, swelling in artistic pride.

It was my masterpiece after all. My cool, bloody, grotesque, and strangely erotic masterpiece.

I was captured of course. Warpsmith technology really helps to pinpoint culprits in a crime. I was captured, but instead of being thrown into a really boring therapy seminar they brought me to London. I met Miracleman, and he said that I would be one of many who would go through an intense brain surgery so that psychopathy and sociopathy won't exist anymore.

I was zonked out before I could do anything.

When I woke up... they showed me the section of my brain that they took out, and asked how I feel.

Normally, I would have thought looking at my own brain was cool beyond belief.

Now, I didn't feel anything.

When I told him that, Miracleman smiled and seemed to glitter more as he said that the operation was a success then.

I stayed in Olympus for surveillance purposes after, and I tried to watch the Bates Massacre desperately in an attempt to feel something.

Nope. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

I met Andy Warhol, or at least one of his clones (Or was he a machine? It was all so confusing to be honest). Have to admit, as an artist it was an honor meeting him, even if I couldn't feel excited about it anymore. We didn't work with the same materials, but I could appreciate him.

I was then shipped back to Japan. I am restricted from depicting anything violent in my work, should I decide to continue being an artist. Doesn't matter. I tried painting a scene like my old ones, but I can't feel anything anymore. The painting was bland, lacking any of my previous enthusiasm or excitement. Bates was in my mind. I could admire him, but I could no longer feel my excitement for him.

Those first few months were absolute hell.

I now sit in parks, staring blankly at the scene and painting what I see. Sometimes I try to draw decapitated heads and split bodies, but I always throw those away now. It is as if my life has become empty, just like my passion.

I am an artist, or at least I was.

The Age of Miracles gave humanity many things, but it also took away as well.

I can see that they are sapping away our potential, our creativity.

Artists and writers are now dwindling, as we loose ideas and they take away our inspiration. Either through mere presence or surgically just like me.

Humanity got paradise, but it gave up something else in return.

The life I live now... really isn't cool.

_Earth_ is no longer cool now that they are here.

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><p><strong>xxXXxx<strong>

**The End**

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><p><strong>xxXXxx<strong>

**Note: Man, Ryuunosuke's mind is a scary place to be. But this idea wouldn't get out of my head, since I thought 'What would happen with Ryuunosuke in my In The Shadow Of The Gods setting?'. After rereading Miracleman, or issue 16 to be precise, I got my answer and got to work.**

**Check out my other works as well**

**Please leave constructive criticism.**


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